I observed the noisy crowd with ears to the main door,
A dull, green coat was a bitter coat for the doors were huge;
I saw them greener than the rest of mankind,
For the alien is a miserable creation of higher wit.
They had masks, no-one in the tavern called Earth
Had masks, that radiated and stunned their way home.
The winds lay in the way between the Great Hall
And Market Square, with main doors and huger arthritis.
I saw a small table spread before the doors of faith,
A tall gaunt man watched all the movement.
As the population of crows or aliens grew around,
They came and went with banging doors and swinging gates.
This mask they wore had to come true with zeal,
Returning to the war had subdued them.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem